


Me and you

by Nikashuk



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Obviously Tommy is still presumed dead in this one, Survivor Guilt, Tragedy, can't leave without giving the boys some comfort after I torture them, come here for your regularly scheduled angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikashuk/pseuds/Nikashuk
Summary: It’s days later when it finally hits him. It’s when he’s staring at the flowers planted around his home. It’s when he looks at the tributes built around it, littering the sides of the path. It’s when there’s no certain blonde haired boy, sitting on a nearby bench playing a disc in a jukebox and humming along. It’s when it’s quiet, now that there’s no one around to whoop excitedly and playfully shout profanities.___Or, Tubbo can no longer deny the truth.
Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65





	Me and you

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop writing angst. All of these streams are fuelling my creativity. When I watched Ranboo's stream I couldn't count the amount of times I almost cried. Jesus Christ. OH AND HIS CONVERSATION WITH SAM OUCH. hey bestie I cant do this today  
> In terms of content this is such a rewarding fandom to be in, but in terms of fulfilment? Not so much. There is so much pain. It hurts.
> 
> Started writing this shortly before Tubbo made his little memorial, then got side-tracked and wrote Estrangement, Reconciliation first. Technically this fic still works because no one knows Tommy got resurrected (that still hurts), so it doesn't really matter.
> 
> Don't think about Tubbo mourning Tommy, read this fic about Tubbo mourning Tommy instead! Big Law Pog? Detective Tubbo? It's honestly quite nice to see him streaming a bit more laid back than the others, I think we all needed it. Everything is so upsetting. The upside is we all get to cry together. Also Michael my beloved.
> 
> Enjoy and leave a comment! Please. I love reading comments. Please. I try my best to respond to as many as I can. Anyways, have fun with your angst.

The human brain is a mysterious thing. So fragile yet so strong. Prone to damage but indestructible. Easily convinced but headfast and stubborn and strong. Repeat something often enough and you will start to believe it. It was the reason things like propaganda worked so effectively, because it was said over and over again, that way it was ingrained into your very being.

Tubbo had done his fair share of repeating things to himself. That's how he has found himself facing a truth he didn't want to face a lot later than what would've been good for him. He had denied Tommy's death. Said it couldn't be, surely, enough times he had nearly managed to convince himself of his delusions, which were only borne from not being ready to face the reality of things. Those actions are why it’s days later when it finally hits him. 

It’s when he’s staring at the flowers planted around his home. It’s when he looks at the tributes built around it, littering the sides of the path. It’s when there’s no certain blonde haired boy, sitting on a nearby bench playing a disc in a jukebox and humming along. It’s when it’s quiet, now that there’s no one around to whoop excitedly and playfully shout profanities.

Tubbo had been spending the days leading up to this one in blissful ignorance. Sure, he’d built that little memorial tribute out on the icy cold water, but even then, it still hadn’t clicked. Whenever a memory or a flash surfaces, he would will it away instantly, pushing the thoughts out of his mind and unknowingly resigning himself to more pain along the way. The longer he had waited, the worse it had become, and the less he could stop his mind from attempting to pull him down under and keep him there until he drowned. 

It’s when he stares at the ground for minutes on end, completely oblivious of the people walking past him who don’t approach, either too guilty or afraid to speak to him. Ranboo, however, sticks around. He lingers at his side, not too close but not too far. He doesn’t speak, silently watching, content to wait for him as long as he needs to.

Ranboo won’t leave him. It’s the least he could do for Tubbo, who has shown him nothing but friendship and kindness, even after Dream had called him out to be a traitor. Besides, it’s all there is left that he can still do for Tommy, and he will not fail at another thing. He will not fail at keeping another friend safe, no matter if it’s mentally or physically.

Tubbo stands and stares at the array of flowers, his eyes unfocused and glassy, silently reminiscing on things, people and experiences that have long since passed. One of the memories stands out, and he allows himself to relive it. They had talked about running away once, but after some debating and delibiration, they had decided not to. He wishes they had. He wishes Tommy were here, smiling and laughing and swearing to his heart’s content. Nothing in this world was worth his best friend’s life. Not some stupid country, not some stupid discs, not anything.

It all hits him too quickly, his knees buckling from the weight of the realization dropping onto his shoulders. He falls to his knees with a thud, not even having the mind to hiss in pain as his kneecaps hit the hard wood. “Tommy- Tom-“ he heaves, choking on air. “ _Please,_ come back. I’m so sorry. I’m- I can’t do this without you-“ he chokes out, gritting his teeth and grinding them so roughly it hurts his jaw and might cause permanent damage. That damage could never rival the damage done to his heart, though. The very core of his being, his reason for living, all the joy in his life, is shriveled and withering and dying. That is, if it isn't dead already. 

What now? What does he do now that his best friend is gone? He doesn’t want to go on without him. Doesn't want to live in a world that doesn't possess the rambunctious boy he came to love so much. The one he could spend hours on end just laughing and talking about nothing with in pleasant spring fields. Who even was he, without him?

 _‘Tubbo, what am I without you?‘_ Tommy had sobbed. _‘Yourself.’_ he had smiled sadly, still trying to comfort his friend even in his last moments. Tommy was worth living for, so he was worth dying for.

The memory burns in his throat painfully, feeling like it's crushing his windpipe whole, like there are strong hands squeezing from the inside. He suppresses another sob at the words. When he had been faced with death, a few minutes short of looking it directly in its eyes, he had assured his friend that it would be alright, that it had been about time anyways. Tommy had looked so helplessly upset. Dying would hurt less than not being able to comfort him.

When Tubbo was younger, he had never understood the willingness some people had for dying for something, be that a cause or a person. Because surely, it was more important to find things in which people could find joy, right? Who in their right mind would want to die? And then he had met Tommy. His best friend, who he has been through so much with, be that hardships or war or afternoons spent lying in the tallgrass, just chatting away.

Standing there, in that vault at the bottom of the earth, staring at his pseudo brother, he finally understood. It wasn’t L’Manberg, or the discs, or anything else that he would ever be willing to die for. It was Tommy. It had always been and would always be Tommy.

But now Tommy is gone. Beaten to death, at the hands of his abuser, no less. What an awful, gruesome and pathetic death. Tubbo doesn’t want to imagine it, but his mind was relentless, supplying him with images of dark obsidian and screams and bloodied fists. His hands come up to tug at his hair harshly. Anything to will the visions away. Ranboo panics at his side, but dares not interfere.

It’s too much. It’s overwhelming, so many emotions and thoughts he thinks he might burst open. He tries not to think about Tommy burst open, bloody and bruised. He grits his teeth, clawing at the dirty wooden planks desperately, as if it would bring his best friend back from the dead. His pleas go unheard. He sobs drily and screams until his voice is hoarse and gone. Even now, he still can’t bring himself to cry. He hates himself for it. What kind of a friend is he if he’s unable to cry about and grieve the passing of the person he loved the most?

Another memory resurfaces, recalling their conversation before the election, sitting on their bench, staring at the sun, when things were already far too stressful for two teens, _children,_ than was healthy for them. _‘Just remember, no matter what happens, we always have me and you, big man.’_ Tommy had said with a nervous but genuine smile, hoping to forget the stress of the world for a small moment.

But now they didn’t. They didn’t have each other, and it wasn’t fair. He can’t help but blame himself for it. He can blame himself for it, should blame himself for it, because the blame lays on him, too. Logically, he knows no one is immune to the effects of Dream’s manipulation, and that that had been exactly what had happened, manipulation. He’d been thrusted into a position with far too much responsibility he hadn’t asked for and didn’t know how to fill. If he’d never fallen victim to Dream’s tactics and defied him, they wouldn’t be where they were right now. He’s at fault too, and the guilt is eating him up inside.

The part of his brain that he uses to comfort others wept and fretted. _It would’ve happened differently. It wouldn’t have changed anything. He would’ve killed you and everyone else._ It doesn’t help. He shakes his head at his own thoughts, both in disagreement and in an attempt to expel them. Feeling guilty is what he deserves, no matter what sweet lies his brain might tell him. Why did he get to live and not Tommy? The world’s injustice breaks his spirit time and time again, every single time he thought there was hope left still, the fates would laugh in his face and prove him otherwise. Tommy shouldn’t have died, and the world is cruel for allowing it to happen, just as at fault as everyone else involved in it. If Tubbo could trade places with Tommy, he would do it in a heartbeat. He knows Tommy wouldn’t want that, remembering the fury piercing through the fear at Dream’s threat and mention of killing him. How he had shouted, so angry and full of vigor, that Tubbo himself nearly felt intimidated.

He can hear his own heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears. He reaches up to clasp his hands over his ears, but it does nothing to deafen the loud and quick beats. If anything, it makes it worse. It’s too loud, his breathing coming out in harsh pants as his panic builds. The rise and fall of his chest is too fast, his hands moving from his ears to his torso, laying one on his abdomen and the other on his collarbone. He can’t breathe. Can’t see or hear clearly anymore.

Ranboo is in front of him, putting himself in his field of vision, but Tubbo stares right through him. Ranboo’s hands shoot to all kinds of different places before retracting, not sure on where he should place them. Finally, he decides and settles on Tubbo’s upper arms, his grip firm but not harsh. Tubbo squirms, shaking, forcing Ranboo to grab on tighter to fight the tremors, despite not wanting to, in order to try and snap him out of whatever breakdown he’s having. Tubbo can kind of see his mouth moving, but can’t make out any of the words.

“oah- hey- you’re okay! You’re alright!” his voice finally cuts through. Tubbo blinks at him, mouth agape, dumbfoundedly and confused. “Tubbo, we should go. It’s getting late and you need to rest.” Ranboo frowns, one of his hands releasing its hold on his arm and the other sliding up onto his shaking shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” He shakes his head. He can’t go, he can’t leave him, he can’t-

Still, he looks up to find the sky was no longer as bright as it had been before. He hadn’t even noticed it had gotten darker. The sun was setting. How long has he been sitting here for?

Slowly, he nods, once and hesitantly, but he nods. He doesn’t want to leave, but logically he knows he was close to passing out from exhaustion, can feel the way his limbs feel heavy and frail, and his bed would be a better and safer place to sleep than the cold and wet ground out here. If he died from being killed by some monster roaming around whilst sleeping, Tommy would never forgive him. He can’t bring himself to laugh at that.

He doesn’t really register walking, moving more on autopilot than anything else. He knows the way to Snowchester like that back of his hands, having travelled the distance dozens of times already and having built the tunnel there himself. Ranboo guides him every step of the way, steady hands on him at every moment, a constant presence there to ground him. Tubbo doesn’t show it, mind still too hazy, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

When they get to his house, Ranboo guides him to his bed. Tubbo obliges and sits down. He stays with him, the two of them holding a silent vigil, though it’s not of any use. They both know their friend is gone for good and that he isn’t coming back again.

Tubbo sits with his legs drawn up to his chest, hugging his knees close. Ranboo sits beside him, looking at him with worried eyes filled with sympathy, ever patiently waiting for Tubbo to speak, if he even needs to. He’s content just sitting here with him, if that’s what he needs. The long-lasting silence is broken at last, when Tubbo finally speaks.

“I don’t get why we can’t kill him. They killed me for being a spy, but a murder isn’t enough to warrant an execution, apparently.” He spits bitterly. He’s angry, too, he realizes, now that he’s too tired to grieve. Ranboo doesn’t know how to respond in a way that would make him feel better, so he stays quiet.

“I don’t get why he did it.” Tubbo mumbles. On Doomsday, he kept going on and on about how Tommy was too fun and that their story was far from over, that it would never end. If all of then was true, which he knows it is, then why would he kill him? He can’t make sense of it. “I don’t think any of us could ever hope to understand what goes on in his mind.” Ranboo offers, hoping to bring comfort in the idea that Dream is beyond understanding, and that it’s useless and a waste of time and energy to try and know what makes him tick. Tubbo doesn’t say anything else.

He wants someone to blame other than Dream, who suffers no consequences or repercussions from his actions. Everyone had a part to play in this, even him, which is why he so desperately seeks a better scapegoat. A definitive one, so he doesn’t have to face the guilt he’s feeling.

“I’ll find who did this do him, and I will fucking kill them.” Tubbo growled, low and dangerous even though there was no one around to hear the threat, unless you count Ranboo. The sudden swear startles Ranboo a little, but he doesn’t mention it. In all fairness, a bit of harsh language is warranted in a situation such as this one, and it’s not like Tubbo’s never sworn before.

“I know you will.” he says, because he believes it, has heard stories of the infamous ‘Big Law’, back when he wasn’t here yet and times were simpler. Besides that, Tubbo is a lot smarter than most people give him credit for. For some reason, kindness is associated with naivety, and naivety with stupidity. That logic had always been lost on him. Tubbo is smart though, especially when he puts his mind to it. If anyone could solve this mystery, it would be him.

He’s shaken from his thoughts when Tubbo sighs, all previous anger seeming to have drained from him until nothing but tiredness remains. Exhaustion creeps up on Tubbo before he knows it, its tendrils pulling his mind down under, drowning him and making his eyelids droop. Tubbo fights it, doesn’t want to wake up to a world where his best friend is gone. Ranboo notices and frowns. “You should rest. It’s been a long day.” he says gently. Tubbo shakes his head, both in disagreement and an attempt to wake himself up. “I’m not tired.” The lie leaves him so easily, so used to deceiving those around him to keep himself and those he cares about safe. Due to the fact his eyes drooped again right after saying it, and the fact Ranboo saw it before as well, he sees right through it.

“Tubbo.” he deadpans, somehow managing to make that look gentle, too. It doesn’t help much. “I don’t feel like sleeping.” That’s the truth, at least, even if it’s a half one. “I’ll be right here.” Ranboo says, as if the problem he has with sleeping is that he’ll be alone. In all due fairness, he’s not completely wrong. That is the problem, being alone, just not in general. He is alone. Without Tommy, he will always be alone.

“I appreciate it, Ranboo, I really do, but I just don’t- I can’t-“ He can’t bring himself to formulate his thoughts, all words a jumbled mess and all of them dying on his tongue regardless of how much effort he puts in to try and form a coherent sentence. “Tubbo, you have to sleep.” Ranboo cautions, worry etched into his features. Tubbo can’t disappoint someone else, he can’t. So, after heaving a sigh and breathing out a shuddering breath, he nods. “Okay.” he relents, splaying his legs out so they dangle off of the side of his bed, dropping his hands to his sides.

Ranboo smiles, reassuring and gentle, getting up and walking across the room. Tubbo stares after him, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m staying here, but I don’t think you’d sleep very comfortably if I stayed seated on your bed.” Ranboo jokes, the easy smile that comes with it not fitting the mood of the room. Tubbo can’t find it in himself to even pretend to find it funny. He takes of his boots and coat, which he had kept on ever since they stepped inside, too tired and unbothered to remove the pieces of clothing, and throws them onto the floor next to his bed.

”Thanks Ranboo, for being here.” he says when he’s finally settled in, nestled in a mess of blankets and pillows. “No need to thank me.” Ranboo smiles, though he appreciates the acknowledgement that his efforts have not been fruitless. He might stare for a little while, to make sure Tubbo actually falls asleep, a relieved sigh leaving him as he can hear Tubbo’s breathing gradually slow down.

Tubbo doesn’t sleep well, waking up at random intervals, then promptly tearing up but not crying, still never crying, as realization settles like rocks in his stomach as he remembers everything, just as he had feared. Ranboo is there every time he opens his eyes. After a few hours, he starts to find the presence comforting. Maybe he’s not completely alone, not with Ranboo here with him. It wouldn’t be the same. Nothing ever would. Tommy is gone, and his life has been flipped upside down, like some helpless animal that can’t flip itself back onto its stomach.

Everything just makes him feel empty. Hollowed out, like there's nothing inside him anymore. Hi wants to feel sad, but he doesn't have the energy. Not being able to feel sad in turns makes him angry, mostly at himself, but again, he doesn't have the energy for that either. The combinations and possibilities are endless, not just resigned to anger or sadness, but also things like wallowing and self-pity, which then makes way for self hate and guilt. Overal though, the emptiness reigns supreme. The only proof he's still alive is a strong sense of guilt that churns uncomfortably in his stomach, and the ever lingering presence of Ranboo, supportive all the way. 

He’ll get through this, the same way he’s gotten through every other abysmal thing and bad experience in his life. One step at a time, one foot after the other, day by day.

Tubbo will spend the rest of his days in blissful ignorance, even though he knows about the thing that haunts him most and will till the end of his days, when maybe he’ll see his best friend again. For now, he’ll pick up the broken pieces and put himself back together, with Ranboo at his side.


End file.
